Page 42 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Feels about right,” George replied, forcing a grin he didn’t quite feel. Inside, he wasn’t just tired, he was drained in every sense of the word. The relentless pace of training camp was one thing, but his mind kept wandering elsewhere, to Myst.

As soon as he reached his locker, he checked his phone. A missed call from her flashed on the screen, and his chest tightened. There was also a text: “Had some time earlier. Was hoping to catch up. Call me when you can x”.

“Shit,” he murmured, guilt bubbling up. He quickly tapped her number, leaning back against the cool metal of the lockers as it rang. He needed to hear her voice, to feel that electric buzz that came whenever they talked, no matter how brief.

“Hello?” Myst’s voice came through, muffled and rushed.

“Hey, sorry I missed your call. How are you?” George asked, his tone softening instantly.

“Can’t really talk right now,” she said, her words clipped. In the background, he could hear shouts and the faint thrum of music. “We’re mid-rehearsal. Timing’s a bit rubbish, huh?”

“Yeah, seems to be our specialty,” he tried to joke, but it came out weaker than he intended. “All good. Just wanted to… I don’t know. Check in.”

“Same here.” Her voice softened slightly, but then someone yelled her name in the background, and she sighed. “I’ve gotta go, George. Rain check?”

“Of course,” he said, even as disappointment coiled tight in his chest. “Talk later.”

“Bye!” And then she was gone, the line cutting off with a sterile beep.

George stared at his phone for a moment longer before shoving it back into his bag. The hollowness he’d tried to ignore all day seemed to expand, filling every inch of him. He knew Myst wasn’t to blame, her schedule was insane, just like his, but damn, it was hard. Harder than he’d expected.

“Come on. Shower, food, sleep. Reset tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, grabbing his towel. But as he trudged toward the showers, exhaustion dragged at him, heavier than any tackle he’d taken that day.

Chapter Fifteen

George slumped onto hiscouch, debating whether he wanted to take a shower or run a long bath to soak in. His body ached from training, muscles taut and screaming for rest, but it wasn’t just the physical exhaustion weighing him down. His phone buzzed on the coffee table, vibrating against an empty glass, and for a moment he debated ignoring it entirely. But habit won, as it always did.

He reached over lazily, thumb swiping at the screen, only to freeze mid-motion. There it was: Myst’s face plastered across the homepage of some tabloid website.“Myst Steps Out Again: Is Antoine Delacourt More Than Just A Friend?”The headline practically screamed at him, jabbing precisely where he already felt raw. Below it were glossy photos of Myst draped in a silky emerald gown that clung to her in all the right places. Her dark hair cascaded like liquid ink over one shoulder, her pale blue eyes catching the light with an allure that seemed almost otherworldly. And next to her, looking smug and polished, was Antoine Delacourt, whose perfectly tailored suit and easy grin made George want to punch something.

“Bloody hell,” George muttered under his breath, fingers tightening around his phone like it might snap in two. He tried to rationalize it; Antoine was someone Myst had to schmooze with for work or publicity. But the photos told a different story, one that whispered insidious doubts into the corners of his mind. They looked... effortless together. Like they belonged in the same world, all glitz and glamour and million-dollar smiles.

Unlike him, with his broken nose and a crooked tooth in his smile.

The thought hit hard, a sucker punch to the gut. What was he doing, really? Trying to fit into a life so far removed from his own that it felt like trying on someone else’s shoes, shoes two sizes too small, at that.

Without thinking, his thumbs moved over the screen, tapping out a message before he could second-guess himself. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” Simple. Honest. Brutal. He hit send before he could talk himself out of it. As soon as the message disappeared, regret sank its claws in, but he shoved the phone aside and leaned back against the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling fan spinning above him.

Moments later, the phone buzzed again. Myst’s name lit up the screen, her call cutting through the quiet hum of the night. George’s heart stuttered, but he didn’t pick up. He couldn’t, not yet. Not when everything inside him felt tangled and knotted, like a rugby ball stuck beneath a pile of players, impossible to reach. Instead, he let it ring out, the sound fading into silence that felt deafening.

“Jessie, what do I do?” Myst’s voice cracked as she paced the length of her Istanbul hotel room, barefoot and dressed in sweats that felt entirely out of place after hours spent in stage heels. She’d called Jessie the moment George hadn’t answered, the sharp sting of rejection still fresh and bleeding, and Jessie was there within moments.

“First off, stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy,” Jessie said dryly. “And second…” there was a pause, followed by a dramatic sigh, “you fight for him, obviously.”

“How?!” Myst flopped onto the edge of the bed, burying her head in her free hand. “He thinks he doesn’t belong in my world. And maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve dragged him into something he never signed up for. These stupid photos, these headlines…” Her voice broke again, and she hated how weak she sounded. “They’re painting a picture that isn’t true, and I can’t stop it.”

“Well, you can’t stop it by hiding,” Jessie said, sitting down beside her and patting her shoulder. “Look, Myst, if you care about him you’ve got toshowhim. Take control of the narrative. Set the record straight, your way.”

“Set the record straight?” Myst echoed, frowning.

“Yeah. Stop letting these vultures tell your story for you. You’reMyst, for god’s sake. They hang on your every word. Use that. Make them listen,“ Jessie urged, her no-nonsense edge returning. “This isyourrelationship. Don’t let them ruin it before you’ve even gotten a proper chance.”

“You mean go public? But George...” Myst trailed off, biting her lip. “What if he doesn’t want me to?”

“Then he’s an idiot,” Jessie snapped without hesitation. “But I don’t think he is. He loves you, Myst. He’s just scared. So stop giving him reasons to doubt, yeah?”

Myst exhaled shakily, the weight of Jessie’s words settling in her chest. “All right,” she said quietly. “I’m going to do it.”

“Excellent.” Jessie levered herself back to her feet. “I’m going back to bed.”

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